


Last One Standing

by BeesKnees



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Blood, F/M, Injury, Kink Bingo 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesKnees/pseuds/BeesKnees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The challengers keep coming long after the Fullmetal Alchemist has retired; the war keeps pounding on their door and Winry keeps worrying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last One Standing

Van is standing in the doorway, small hands pressed up against the frame. That’s the first warning that something is wrong. Winry runs the rest of the way to the house, groceries thudding heavily against her side. 

She hadn’t thought twice about leaving Ed alone with the kids; the worst that ever happens is Van’s penchant for hiding when Ed is in charge, a game that their son thinks is both clever and amusing. 

She sweeps into the house and gathers Van into her arms the moment she’s there, dropping the bags. Something rolls across the floor and Winry can’t be bothered to check what it is. She peers around the house — and is surprised to see how incredibly normal it looks. There’s no sign of a struggle. Nothing’s broken, nothing’s out of place, except for the fact that the baby’s crib has been moved downstairs. 

Winry looks inside warily, but she’s asleep, one hand pressed against her face.

“I took care of her,” Van says proudly, already starting to try and twist out of her arms. “Dad told me to.”

“Where is Dad?” Winry asks, trying to quell the fear that grips at her heart. She’s certain she doesn’t manage to smooth it entirely out of her voice. She pushes Van’s golden hair out of his face and tries to formulate theories as to why Ed would have left the children on their own. She doesn’t like any of them.

Van shrugs and instantly pushes his own hand up, ruffling his hair back into his face.

“Some guy came to see him,” Van says. For the first time, he looks up at Winry with an odd expression on his face, as if he understands that there might be something wrong. 

Just because the Fullmetal Alchemist had claimed to be done with alchemy doesn’t mean the world believes him. When he had first come home, first came back to her, there had been a stream of people at their doorstep, eager to become his apprentice. Ed had turned them away calmly. Winry doesn’t know if he could have trained them anyway or if he could have sent them to Alphonse, but neither does she ask. These apprentices exist in some grey space, a lingering presence of their old life that bleeds into the new one. 

The apprentices weren’t really the problem though. It was what came after. In the end, it didn’t really matter if Ed could perform alchemy any more or not; there was still quite the name to be made for defeating the Fullmetal Alchemist in any kind of fight. It was worse than anything they had gone through before — before when Winry had been terrified for Ed, but at least knew that he had the capability to take care of himself. Now, he still has his physical ability to fight and his intelligence, but he is stripped of his alchemy when some of the greatest and most volatile alchemists come to battle him. Ed always tries to take them away from the house — away from the children, away from her — and in the end, Winry is always left worrying if she’s ever going to see him again. 

The war continues to pound on their door years after it is over.

There hasn’t been anyone lately and she had dared to hope that maybe these battles would subsist, that the challengers would leave, or maybe that Central had done something to protect them.

Van wriggles in her arms again, and Winry finally lets him down. 

“You better go clean up the mess upstairs before he gets home then,” Winry warns, her voice sounding more her own. Van looks at her over his shoulder before pounding up the steps.

Winry retreats. She rocks the baby in her arms, gathers the groceries, starts dinner. She does anything she can to distract herself from the images that plague her mind — the images that warn that Ed is not safe. Ed is somewhere unknown, fighting someone dangerous. She may never see him again. She may never know what happened. 

Dinner is an oddly somber affair if only because Van whines about Ed not being home yet. She puts both the children to bed and still Ed is not home. She steps outside, onto the small balcony and wrings her hands as she stares into the distance. It’s only when the sun is just about to dip below the horizon that she sees a pair of figures walking down the road — a pair she has watched appear over that hill many a time. Her heart lodges itself solidly in her throat. Alphonse and Ed. 

Even from this distance, it’s easy to see Ed is injured. His automail leg is missing entirely. The fabric of his pants is torn to shreds just above where his calf would have been and hangs loosely, swaying with each of Ed’s and Al’s motions. One of his arms is wrapped around Al’s shoulders, and his head is down, as if he’s struggling to stay conscious. Their going is slow, almost all of Ed’s weight leaned against Alphonse. She wonders how it is that Al could have known — could have been here just the moment Ed needed saving again, but she’s learned better than to question any sort of miracle bridging the brothers. 

She flies down the stairs, leaving the door open behind her as she heads down the path to meet them. Al smiles at her in a quiet sort of way that she’s certain is meant to be reassuring, but Ed looks even worse up close. She lets herself be horrified for just a moment — there’s blood splattered across his face. His eyes are closed, chin bobbing down near his chest. His shirt is torn across the chest, three diagonal stripes ripping their way from his left shoulder down to his right hip. His hair is no longer pulled back, but a matted mass gathered around his shoulders, stained dark with his own blood. His torn pants leg is dark with blood and some kind of fluid from his auotmail leg. 

When her moment of fear is over, Winry steels herself, and goes onto the other side of Ed. She wraps his other arm over her shoulders, taking as much of his weight as she can. His head bobs upward for just an instant, but he doesn’t open his eyes. 

Their march back to the house is slow and Ed doesn’t come fully back to himself the entire way. Winry can feel blood sliding sluggishly off of Ed’s arm and down her shoulder. It sticks to the back of her neck, drying there. She’s grateful for it in a way she knows she shouldn’t have to be. If Ed is bleeding, he is alive, so she will be grateful. 

They head into the house and Winry and Al manage to get Ed to one of the patient beds. Al moves to start gathering the things they need, but Winry moves faster. She gets hot water and piles cloths and bandages into her arms. Al returns to the bed to rid Ed of his ruined shirt. 

Winry settles down on the edge of the bed. She begins to dab slowly at the nasty gash that curves from Ed’s forehead along the right side of his eye. It will scar. Al hovers nearby. 

“Al, there’s dinner in the kitchen if you’d like some,” she says, looking up, smiling as if everything’s okay. Al hesitates, but he nods, smiling in return, and disappears, leaving her alone with Ed. She knows Al can help — but she can do this. 

The dried blood on Ed’s face comes away stubbornly and the wound on his face is still bleeding, the color disturbingly bright. Ed flinches abruptly, nose wrinkling as he tries to pull away from the press of the cloth. 

“Stay still,” Winry commands, her voice brooking no argument. She presses her free hand to the other side of his face, holding him in place.

He finally opens his eyes — and it’s such a relief Winry can barely stand it. 

“Winry,” Ed says in this quietly amazed voice — a voice she rarely hears when it isn’t just the two of them. He presses his own hand up — the one he gained back — against her face. He rubs his thumb across her cheek, ignoring the blood he smears there and then leans up to kiss her. There’s still too much blood on his face — but she’s grateful for it, so grateful — and she can taste it in their kiss. 

“I won,” Ed says against her mouth as he cards his fingers through her hair. There’s a hint or pride in his voice as if this his announcement is supposed to come as some kind of consolation. As if this brutality could be canceled out by Ed’s victory. 

“Well now I’ve got to rebuild your leg again,” she says, pulling away so she can inspect his injured leg. There’s a note of their banter in her statement, and Ed eases into it. 

“I know,” he says, but reaches for her hand anyway, clinging tight to her so they can both readily ignore the blood still seeping through the sheets.


End file.
